Wilson, The Notorious Canary Trainer
by Ennui Enigma
Summary: Based on one of Watson's untold tales. While the detective is convalescing in the countryside, claims of a haunted coal mine lead Holmes and Watson to investigate one the strangest cases they've ever encountered. Along the way they run into a few, shall we say, interesting characters.
1. Ch 1 - The Beginning

**The story is based on a prompt from Watson. In one of the canon stories, ****Black Peter,**** he briefly mentions a case Holmes solved involving Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer.**

**The case is dedicated to my dear friend, Claire, who shares a passion for ACD Holmes with me (although not a passion for fan fiction). She was kind enough to supply me with the basic premise for this story.**

**I cannot say thank you enough to ****jack63kids**** for her help in editing, not to mention the immeasurable encouragement she gave me. Many thanks to ****mrspenci****l for her suggestions and help too! Please do check out these talented authors own fan fiction. Brilliant stuff!**

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**Those of you who write know how much reviews, comments, and suggestions for improvement are valued; those of you who haven't tried writing yet – well, let's just say, reviews are more precious than you probably realise but try writing and you'll see what I mean! **

_~o~_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing related to ACD canon or the characters. I just enjoy solving mysteries with them!_

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**Wilson The Notorious Canary Trainer**

On referring to my notes, I find that it was the year of 1885 in which a singular case presented itself that led to a most remarkable conclusion. However, I have chosen to chronicle this affair not so much because of its salient qualities, which are striking, but because it illustrates so well those extraordinary powers for which my friend, Holmes, has trained and refined to such an astonishing level in his lifelong fight against crime. There are points about this case, which furthermore are so strange and so odd that I would be amiss if I failed to lay the facts of this matter before the public.

Over the past several years since I had first met Holmes on that fateful day at Bart's and later accompanied him on the singular affair that was published in the Strand under the title, _A Study in Scarlet_, the detective saw a continued expansion of his consulting business. His reputation continued to spread and many illustrious clients crossed our humble threshold. To my great delight, I went along with my companion on many of these adventures. Having kept detailed notes, I now refer to them in order to present the precise details as they unfolded on this most unusual case.

In the spring of that year, I found my friend Holmes in a deplorable state of health. Despite his usual iron constitution, the strain of the past few months had taken their toll. Working both day and night for up to five or six days straight without proper nourishment and sleep had left my companion frail in body and mind. His naturally saturnine character plummeted to a most grave and morose depression that made it near impossible to allow any healing of his sickly body that now shook with a persistent hacking cough. His thin frame shivered like a leaf in the midst of a gale wind threatening to tear away at any moment. The atmosphere in our flat matched the grey, smoke laden skies of London and did nothing to cheer him. As his personal physician I forbade him from taking on any new cases and strongly recommended that he seek an extended respite in some secluded estate letting the country air and the naturally slower pace of life imbue him with the health and vigor that he so desperately needed.

"Holmes, you must get away from these ever-present reminders of evil and criminality that are synonymous with your work. Allow your mind to recover from the recent arduous trials you have so recently subjected it to."

In reply, Holmes merely grunted from his reclined position on the sofa. His eyelids drooped with weariness and his face was pinched and drawn by the ceaseless worry that infects the soul of one that is ever on the alert, surrounded by dangerous masterminds of the nefarious underworld. The sleep that he desperately needed eluded him due to the paroxysms of coughing at all hours of the day and night. This only served to further dampen his dark and melancholic mood.

Watching my dear friend wither away in front of me was more than I could bear. I determined to lure him away from his now habitual residence upon the sofa with his skull staring accusingly from across the room where it rested in silence upon the mantelpiece. I thought of the many noblemen that Holmes had assisted. While the despondent detective maintained his catatonic posture and position, I discretely sent off a telegram to Dr and Mrs Percy Trevelyan. I knew that Dr Trevelyan remained ever grateful to Holmes for his investigation and resulting brilliant deduction that revealed the true chain of events, clearing him from all suspicion in regards to a murder.

Shortly after our adventure together, the young doctor had found himself a beautiful wife. The post inevitably delivered a Christmas card from the happy couple each year updating us on the doctor's work and other family events. With their last card we learned that he and his darling wife were now parents to one son and had a second child on the way.

Shortly after sending my telegram to the Trevelyans, I received a reply from them. They now resided in the countryside of North Staffordshire.

Their telegram read: _Do come at once! Will meet you with horse and trap at the train station. Our guesthouse is open to you as long as you need – Trevelyan_.

In reply to my initial enthusiasm over this invitation, my ailing flat mate only whined. "Watson, you know I am not a man designed for the life of a country squire despite whatever heritage and genetic predisposition I might have inherited."

"Come, now, be reasonable." I admonished. "You're in the most sordid of moods and your health is on the verge of collapse, you cannot afford to ague with my advice. As your personal physician, I insist you get out of London. Besides we will not be staying with the family in their personal residence. We'll reside at the little farmhouse that serves as their guesthouse. It is kept up by one of their neighbours. We will have our own rooms with meals provided. You will be free to spend your time in your own little researches without unwanted intrusions."

Holmes' protests were interrupted by an uncontrollable bout of harsh coughing.

I held up my hand to indicate him that I would hear no more excuses. He was too sick to be reasonable. Holmes was always in the most petulant of moods when his health was faring poorly. I went upstairs and packed our travel bags.

~o~

**End of chapter 1. Stay tuned for chapter 2 that I've preliminarily titled "The haunted colliery"**


	2. Ch 2 - The Haunted Mine

**A big thank you to all who have read and reviewed this little adventure, ****medcat****, ****mrspencil****, ****Rockztar****, ****Book girl fan****, and ****MapleleafCameo****. You brighten my day and encourage me to continue! Chapter two continues as our favoriate detective and his loyal colleague find themselves in unfamiliar surroundings with reports of strange happenings at an abandoned colliery...**

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**Chapter 2: The Haunted Coal Mine**

The next day after a rather tiresome journey, we at last found ourselves deposited in front of a picturesque simple white clapboard country farmhouse situated peacefully among the rolling countryside in North Staffordshire. Thereafter, the open scenery and fresh air began to have their desired effect upon my friend with gratifying alacrity. Over the next week, Holmes occupied his time with long solitary strolls along the lonely moors dotted by ash woods.

At night he immersed himself in the study of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. I looked with pleasure upon my colleague whose pinched and sallow features laden with anxiety were fading rapidly with each passing day. His body stimulated by the daily strolls along the country paths gave him a hearty appetite that I had not witnessed in a long while.

Occasionally I joined my friend on his excursions into the nearby village and listened enthralled as he held me captive with his keen observations of the details and his powers of inference as we strolled the streets laden with an endless parade of people and animals marching across our path. His enchanting chatter amused and amazed me. How he could discern such minutiae from the kaleidoscope of such a living, flowing mass of humanity was a testament to his years of training and innate detective genius. I never tired of listening to him on these outings.

With the improvement in his health, Holmes' moods took a decided turn toward the more cheerful. One morning I came down to the dining room for morning tea and breakfast to find my friend already seated by the window perusing the local paper.

"Fascinating, Watson." He peered over the paper, his eyes and nose just showing above the page. "One cannot imagine the drama that happens in such a small village. The society papers of London have nothing over the gossip of a village paper."

I sat down and joined him in the breakfast nook. "Well, village folk are rather known for their gossip," I said placidly.

"Just look at this." He read from the paper: _The Whitfield Colliery is reportedly haunted. Since it's unfortunate closure six months ago, local villagers report inexplicable happenings at the pitheads. Lights of a peculiar glow have been spotted moving around within the wild grasses seemingly suspended in mid air. At other times, ominous noises surprisingly reminiscent of its working days have been heard. There is no explanation for these sights and sounds. Perhaps they represent the last inhabitants of the abandoned colliery. Or perhaps they are the ghosts of those unfortunate miners who have sacrificed their lives in the pursuit of their profession?_

"The article goes on to comment that everyone interviewed in the village purports that these ghost stories are absolutely true. What do you think, Watson?" My companion smiled mischievously in my direction.

"I cannot say I thoroughly approve of spreading such blatant falsehoods especially within a respectable town paper," I said rather sharply.

"Come now, Watson. Do you not find it rather amusing to think of an entire village duped by superstitious fears of a haunted coal mine?"

"It is rather strange that the entire town seems to believe it," I replied. "Since you have been out to the mine this morning, what is your opinion?"

Holmes looked startled for a moment before his characteristic cool, practical mask dropped back in place. "Watson, you astonish me sometimes. I see the art of deduction has not confined itself entirely to my domain today. Pray tell."

"When two have known each other for some years, it is not a difficult matter to realise that a story such as this would be enough to pique your insatiable curiosity. If you had not gone earlier, I am confident that we would be headed out to the mine now."

He put down his paper and nodded at my implication.

Gratified, I continued. "I see traces of dirt on your shoes and a rosy flush to your cheeks from the chill of the morning air and the vigorous exercise of your walk. Where else would you have gone but to the abandoned colliery?"

"Marvelous!" He clapped his hands together and laughed. "You never cease to surprise me, old chap. Let us have our breakfast now. Shall I pour your tea?"

As we ate our morning fare, Holmes filled me in on the details of the article that had stimulated his imagination and his subsequent jaunt. I couldn't help but notice a familiar gleam in his eyes and intensity in his voice. My old friend was back in the game.

"Let me summarize the history of this purportedly haunted colliery for you. The paper today listed a few important dates in its history but our kind hosts at this farmhouse were amiable enough to fill me in on the missing details. According to the paper, the mine opened in 1853 and in 1858 the North Staffordshire Railway Company began construction on a stretch of rail now known as the Biddulph Valley branch line, completed in 1860. This line passed within half a mile of Whitfield. At its completion a connecting line from the shafts of Whitfield to the railway was built to enhance coal transport.

Thereafter, the shafts were deepened and widened to improve access to the abundant coal seams. Coal and men were wound up the shafts in 8 cwt tubs hooked onto winding rope attached to chains.

In 1867 a group of investors bought the mining operation and the 214-acre estate forming The Whitfield Colliery Company Limited. They continued the expansion of the colliery and added the steam powered winding engines.

The paper again informs us that in 1872 the Whitfield Colliery was bought up by the Chatterley Iron Company Limited, which was looking for a source of coal for its blast furnaces, oil distilling plant, and colliery working ironstone that was located in the Chatterley Valley west of Tunstall.

Mrs Potter, our hostess, tells me that in 1880 a fire destroyed the oil distillery plant and in 1881 an accident due to the misuse of an underground blacksmith's furnace caused an explosion and fire that killed twenty-four people."

Here Holmes paused in his historical narrations and looked up from the paper. Unperturbed, I continued to butter another slice of toast. "Pray continue." I raised my eyebrows in good humour at the monotonous, methodical account my dear friend presented at this early hour.

Holmes turned the page and shook it open and resumed. "Despite a loyal following, the colliery met with considerable financial distress and last year applied to the courts for closure. This appeal was rescinded and the colliery affairs were placed under the control of three liquidators: Hugh Henshall Williamson, C. J. Homer, and John Renshaw Wain."

I finished my toast and sighed. "Congratulations, Holmes. You have certainly done your homework. Now do finish your bacon and eggs before they turn cold and unfit for human consumption."

Holmes took a few bites of his eggs and finished up the bacon. He leaned back holding his teacup in his hand. "Interestingly, our hosts here tell me that it is Wain's son, Edwards Brownfield that was last managing the colliery."

I groaned good-naturedly and rose from the breakfast table brushing off a few crumbs. My breakfast mate set down his empty cup and followed. Together we went out to wander the rolling fields of the area. I knew enough of my friend and his methods to deduce exactly where we were headed.

~o~

**End of chapter 2. More to come in chapter 3 where Holmes and Watson visit the haunted colliery and discover...**


	3. Ch 3 - Thad and the Colliery

**Special thanks to ****jack63kids****, ****mrspencil****, ****MapleleafCameo****, ****Book girl fan****, and ****peaceandlove**** for their comments and reviews. Appreciate them all! **

**Sorry for a short chapter. Promise next one will be longer! **

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Holmes stepped with a brisk trot, eager nose pointed forward intent on whatever quest his incalculable mind set itself to solve. In spite of my misgivings regarding my colleague's new obsession so soon after his convalescence, I felt a surge of excitement and anticipation as I followed the famous detective on another of his investigations.

As his physician I did add my cautionary advice. "Holmes, you mustn't overdo it. You've only recently begun to overcome that appalling cough and too much work so soon could relegate you to a state worse than before."

Although he nodded his head in acknowledgement, his dark hair ruffling slightly at the gesture, I wondered if he'd truly heard. Based on past experience, I had little doubt that any advice he heard would be cataloged and subsequently filed to the darkest recesses of his brain or more likely, erased. The odds were not in my favour. Like a pit bull clinging savagely to his hapless victim, Holmes would fling himself with unending passion into the puzzles and conundrums that gripped him. He tenaciously propelled himself forward without regard to his own health during such intense periods of his work. I could only hope that this haunted colliery would turn out to be a benign phenomenon.

At the junction of the main road and a smaller side street, consisting of a muddy lane gouged with endless holes and so narrow that only one hansom might pass at a time, we met a young ruffian who went by the name of Thad. His slender build and childish features gave me to believe he was not a day over ten years. He was on the smallish side with delicate features and skin too pale to be healthy. He had a mop of golden curls and cheeks that were round with one dimple on the left cheek when he smiled. His clothing proclaimed him to be of the lower working class and consisted of a shirt too large for his torso and trousers too short for his growing frame. The hems were frayed and several patches adorned the knees and rear of his trousers.

Despite the coarseness of his attire, his voice and manners were surprisingly respectable. His alert blue eyes revealed an innate intelligence that earned the respect of his comrades. A joyful expression shone on his face as he ran toward us." Mister Holmes! Mister Holmes!" he shouted as he ran.

He finally reached the junction where we stood waiting for him. Panting he stood before the detective. "Mister Holmes, I've got the map like you asked." Here he paused for a few moments catching his breath then continued with a worried frown. "Father says that you should stay far away from the place." The boy lowered his voice to a whisper. "He says the mine must contain something evil and that it would be unwise for anyone to go down inside."

Holmes took the map from the outstretched hands of Thad and gave him a coin for his successful efforts. "Thank you, boy. Have you any other news to report?"

"No, Mister Holmes," he replied sincerely. "I can take you to the entrance to the main shaft but I'm not allowed to go inside.

"That's fine, Thad."

Holmes was so tender toward the boy that I wondered what softened his heart. It was not out of character for him to be respectful to honest people, no matter if they were a king or a street beggar; yet I'd rarely seen him take to a child such as I witnessed now.

Sensing my bewilderment, Holmes glanced back up at me with one of his whimsical smiles and said simply, "He reminds me of someone."

~o~

With Thad leading the way at an excited trot, we soon found ourselves at the entrance to the main shaft of the mine. Several sagging, unpainted, dilapidated, wooden structures with rusting rooves gave an eerie feel to the area. The winding engine support frame, welded from thick iron rods, stood erect and sober guarding over the pithead that marked the beginning of the 148-yard plunge. The wooden tub hung from a rope overhead, silent, waiting to haul up its next load of coal or lower down a soot laden coal worker to his seams. In the distance a tall chimney marked the location of the old iron-smelting factory. A narrow gauge railroad track now almost hidden entirely by the tall strands of grassy wasteland snaked across the undulations of the verdant valley toward the distant houses.

Holmes scanned the map rapidly and pointed out the building remnants of the old colliery. Thad and I stood watching the great detective with uncontained curiosity as he began pacing around the buildings, poking his nose into corners, bending over to examine the soil, and finally pushing aside the shaft covering to peer into the inscrutable blackness.

"Watson," he exclaimed enthusiastically. "There are certain peculiar points about this place that suggest something much deeper than mere gossip about a haunted mine." He rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe this may prove a worthy case."

He turned and looked at me ruefully. The trace of a grin played at the corner so his mouth and a twinkle in his eyes lit up his face. "What do you say, Watson? We can't let this colliery go to ruins just because of a few ghosts. Why, what would our Thad do? His father needs the work and the local townspeople need the income from the coal mining business."

"Oh, please! Mr. Watson. Let Mr. Holmes investigate. He's awfully clever and if it's not haunted, then my Father could come back to work." Thad turned his clear, innocent blue eyes toward me with such an earnest expression on his face. A sympathetic pity was awakened in my heart for him and for the hundreds of other mining employees who were unemployed and unable to feed their families.

"Holmes, haven't we known each other long enough? I know you will investigate whether I give my permission or not."

My colleague rewarded my admonition with a smile.

I shrugged my shoulders with a helpless sigh. "Just let me be a part of your work."

Holmes nodded then turned toward the young boy. "Thad, do you think you could help us find the foreman of this mine and the owner?"

"Of course! I can take you to see Mr Wilson now if you like? He's just over there," he said pointing northward along the green fields.

"Excellent." Holmes started off at a brisk pace in the direction indicated and the boy and I scrambled to catch up to his momentum.

~o~

**Chapter 4. What will Mr Wilson have to say for himself when Holmes and Watson visit his house with a few questions?**


	4. Ch 4 - Mr Wilson

**Thanks again for your reviews! They mean more than you think! Well...onward...hope you enjoy :-)**

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~o~

Mr. Wilson's place looked almost as run down as the colliery. The roof was patched with various shades of rusting zinc sheeting. The outside was made of roughly hewn pieces of boards and two grimy windows adorned the front and side of the single story abode. Only the thin wisp of smoke from the brick chimney hinted that someone might actually be living inside.

We picked our way along the faint dirt path that led up to the unpainted wooden door and knocked. As we waited we heard a curious chorus of chirping and whistling coming from inside. Then a shuffle of feet assured us that someone was coming.

"Who are you?" A grizzled middle-aged man opened the door. His face was creased with deep-set wrinkles but his small, squinting eyes peered at us accusingly. He was a stocky man, well built, and despite his apparent age, not someone any man with an ounce of common sense would want to get into a brawl.

Thad was the first to speak up. "These men just wanna ask you about the ol' mine. I told 'em you was the overseer and would know the most 'bout it." He took off his cap and stood respectfully back from the door as Holmes and I gave a quick affirmative nod to the boy's statement.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague, Dr Watson. We're on holiday. It was a little fancy of mine to visit the colliery when I read how it is reportedly haunted. You see I am an amateur sleuth of the supernatural myself. These phenomena fascinate me." Holmes spoke with remarkable feeling. This kind lad," waving to Thad who stood at attention with wide, curious eyes next to him, "offered to introduce us to you in the hopes that you might shed some light into the recent mysterious ghosts that inhabit Whitfield."

My friend's appealing manner had its desired effect on the rough and solitary Wilson and he took a more sympathetic view of Holmes, the ghost hunter. "Come in," he said reluctantly. He opened the door wider and motioned for us to sit down on two solitary chairs in the sparse sitting room of his home.

Holmes swept swiftly forward into the man's humble abode his eyes already ingesting every detail of the meager furniture, the dusty mantelpiece, and the few articles of mining gear littering the corner and table. I followed behind him but Thad chose to wait outside.

"Sit down," Wilson invited gruffly.

Holmes shook his head. "Our visit must be brief. We needn't impose our presence on you long. "Tell me, how is that you find yourself here? Are there not other mines where your skill and expertise are needed? Surely, your little business with the canaries cannot provide more than a scant income barely enough to support yourself in spite of your rustic and simple lifestyle."

Mr Wilson looked at Holmes with surprise and then suspicion clouded his countenance. "How can you know about my canaries?" he accused.

"Oh come now, Mr Wilson, just because I am on holiday doesn't mean I haven't talked to a few locals. I doubt there is more than one canary breeder in this region. Besides, by the size and number of seed sacks stored here, you must have quite a number of the little birds."

"Well, no," Mr Wilson looked down at the floor, his anger deflated. Then the tough and calloused miner looked up with new respect at the detective. "Would you like to see them, Mr Holmes? And Dr Watson too, of course," he bowed in my direction.

"Certainly," agreed Holmes.

"Since my wife's death, bless her soul, my canaries have been my sole source of comfort. They are such valuable little creatures, frail and yet their rich melodious songs always brighten a poor, lonely man's days." His eyes took on a far away look as he led us to the back room housing his cages of chirping friends. "I can't leave this place - too many memories. As you say, Mr Holmes, there are other mines but I have enough to survive, the boss sees that my basic needs are met. It is enough for a widower."

"I see you are careful about explosions in the mine," Holmes carelessly remarked as he saw the Davy lamp sitting idly in a corner.

"Something new I'm trying out," he answered vaguely.

As I stood admiring the array of yellow and brown birds in various shades and patterns, my colleague continued, "Wilson, I am most intrigued. How is it that the entire Whitfield mining operation came to be shut down?"

"Bad air," shrugged the miner.

"Surely, not the entire mine," exclaimed Holmes.

"You would think not," agreed Wilson, "but, even with the new steam-powered ventilation fans the air quality was continually going bad. Methane and carbon monoxide. Common gases found along with coal deposits that are deadly to the careless miner. The firedamp was too much of an explosion risk. Too much blackdamp and whitedamp too. Guess the boss just decided it was easier to relocate than sink a new shaft in hopes of diverting the air."

He gazed at his melodious friends in silence for a moment. "You know, in a small way, the reason Whitfield closed was due to these tiny animals." He explained in surprisingly great scientific detail. "You see, these little birds have only a tablespoon of blood in their vessels. Carbon monoxide saturates their circulatory system much sooner than a human's. When the poisonous gas builds up in their body, they attempt to hop down to the lower perch, miss, and fall to the bottom of their cage. Every miner knows this is a sure warning sign and makes haste to get out of the mine as fast as possible."

He walked over to one of the smaller cages with just two canaries. He stuck his hand inside and a bright yellow and brown canary hopped spritely onto his finger. He pulled his hand out and stroked the breast feathers of his pet. "This is Maria. She personally gave the warning in the Industrial and Ragmore shafts that saved more than fifty men from carbon monoxide poisoning." He looked proudly at his prodigy as he gently let her skip off his finger back into her cage.

Holmes paced around the room and gazed intently at the collection of canaries. His swift motions and rapid steps alerted me to the fact that something had caught his attention although I had not the slightest idea what it could be.

"When was the last time anyone entered the mine?"

"It must be about six months, Mr Holmes."

"And no one has bought any canaries from you recently?"

"The last customer was from London. They bought a pretty male because of his exceptionally sweet trilling voice," Wilson replied tentatively but with underlying pride at his bird prodigy.

Holmes pointed to a particularly striking gold and orange canary alone in her cage. "Is she for sale?"

"Oh, no, she's one of my best breeders. I wouldn't dream of parting with her."

"Perhaps for the right price," Holmes hinted. "I am quite smitten by her colour and song."

"No, I couldn't part with her. I've grown rather fond of her. She used to be one of my wife's favorites." He gave a sad half smile in apology at Holmes.

"Oh well, can't be helped I suppose." Holmes frowned as he shrugged his shoulders in disappointment.

"How about this one over here?" Wilson motioned to another yellow and orange specimen in a far corner cage.

Holmes looked mildly interested but then quickly dismissed the other bird. "No thanks, Mr Wilson. I think we've seen enough for today."

He trotted rapidly back to the sitting room while I hastily said our good byes to Mr Wilson. "Thank you for your time."

He trailed after us.

"One more question, Mr Wilson. What do you think about the haunted ghost sighting in the abandoned mine? Surely you must have some explanations of your own."

"Really I think they are all just peoples' imagination. Village gossip and exaggerations. No living creature could survive down in the shafts. I don't believe in ghosts, myself." He smiled. "Sorry, Mr Holmes. I am the wrong person to assist you in your ghost hunt."

"Perhaps and perhaps not," he answered distractedly. "It can't be helped anyway." He turned and walked out the front door with the air of a man rather disappointed. "Come, Thad. We might as well be going."

The two of us followed Holmes as he continued at a rapid pace across the grasslands.

"Will you be coming back?" Mr Wilson called after our receding figures. Whether it was my imagination or not, I got the disturbing impression that his question was not completely innocent. I left with a strange premonition haunting my mind.

~o~

On the return walk Holmes stopped once more at the desolated Whitfield mine. I hadn't the faintest idea what he was searching for but I knew enough of Holmes' methods to realise he would tell me in his own time. He was a man who preferred to keep his theories to himself until all could be proven. I allowed him this privacy of his thoughts, which I knew he appreciated.

"Thad, can you come round tomorrow morning and guide us to Mr John Renshaw Wain's residence? He is the most recent Whitfield Colliery owner, I believe?"

"Of course, Mr Holmes!" he replied enthusiastically. Holmes handed the lad a few extra coins for his efforts on this morning. "Thank you, Mr Holmes," Thad politely responded. Then he dashed off to complete whatever errands his mum had assigned him to do today.

That afternoon, dark thunderclouds skittered across the blue skies and obscured the sunlight creating a supernatural, spine-tingling aura. I sat uneasily as my friend smoked quietly and thoughtfully upon his favorite pipe. He didn't speak a word. Motionless, somber, keen eyes hidden by heavy eyelids and furrowed brow Holmes reposed curled in a window seat of the farmhouse overlooking the pastures stretching to the distant horizon.

"Watson, I am convinced that the key to this mystery lies within the mine itself. It is the only reasonable answer that logic leads us to conceive. Like Wilson, I am not ready to blame the otherworldly for the strange lights and noises reported at the colliery." His expression was grave as his eyes concentrated somewhere in the unseen distance.

"But how can one investigate the mine, Holmes?" I queried incredulously. "We have no means to descend the shaft. And remember, Wilson said the air quality was so poor nothing could survive?"

"True, that is what Wilson said," Holmes sat silent for a moment and blew a ring of smoke upward meditatively. "I suspect there is more that he didn't say, my friend. We must take the risk."

"Perhaps we could bring a canary with us?" I suggested.

"Capital idea! Watson." He clapped his hands in approval at my humble proposition. "We can have Thad procure one for us tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest we rest and enjoy a leisurely early dinner. For tonight, a long vigil may await us. It is imperative that we witness these hauntings personally. I expect a rather long night outside. Are you up for it old man?" he chuckled.

"Yes, of course!" I replied eagerly.

"That's the Watson I know! Willing to come with me and join in the fight against crime whatever the danger! It's settled then. Rest. Dinner. And then to the mine for a game of watching and waiting."

~o~

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**Chapter 5 to be posted tomorrow if all goes well. What will Holmes and Watson encounter in their night vigil?**


	5. Ch 5 - Of Mines and Men

**Many thanks to all who've kept up with me on this adventure, ****mrspencil****, ****Book girl fan****, ****peaceandlove****, ****MapleleafCameo****, ****medcat,**** and ****Silverdragonstar****. Your responses all encouraged me to get this next chapter up; some even made me laugh out loud! **

**Hope you enjoy the next installment involving a night time vigil at the haunted colliery, a visit to a less than welcoming landowner, and a trip into the abyss. Hope you enjoy :-)**

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**Of Mines and Men**

The shadows of night had long descended by the time Holmes and I perched ourselves behind a splintered wooden door long fallen off its hinges and now propped against the shelter that had been used in the storage of various mining equipment. Our position was ideal to view whatever sinister events Holmes must suspect. As was his custom, he was reticent to share his ideas when the facts were not complete. I asked no questions of him; content to watch his extraordinary powers of observation and immense faculties follow the clues and clear up mysteries that had long been abandoned by the local police as hopeless.

To me, as one who knew him intimately, I could tell that he expected something evil, something of momentous importance in his investigation, to reveal itself tonight. My own heart quickened in anticipation and I found myself with a heightened awareness to every noise and every shadow that moved. I comforted myself by patting the revolver I'd slipped into my pocket.

"Look, Watson!" Holmes suddenly whispered arousing me out of my reveries. He pointed in the direction of the mine entrance.

"Isn't that Wilson?" I replied in bewilderment.

"Just as I expected."

"But what's he doing here at the mine especially at night?"

Holmes motioned with his fingers for silence. We watched from our hiding place as Wilson climbed into the wooden tub and began to lower himself down into the shaft carefully, hand over hand with the rope and pulley system. He glanced around furtively, anxiety written in his every moment.

"Is that a lamp clamped to his belt?" I squinted in an attempt to see the strange looking contraption. It didn't appear to be lit. Only the low glow from his Davy lamp illuminated his passage.

"It's a canary cage, Watson, not a lamp."

"But why is he going into the mine? He said it was full of poisonous carbon monoxide. Should we stop him?"

"No." He laid a cautionary hand on my eager quivering shoulders. "Your motives are noble but we have bigger birds to net. We must let the little canary loose in order to trap the hawk. For now, we wait."

We settled into a more comfortable position and waited. My hands and feet were cold and numb; my head nodding by the time my ever-alert companion poked me with one of his long thin fingers rousing me. "He's coming up."

Indeed, I rubbed my bleary eyes to see the nearly imperceptible rope sliding across the metal pulley bringing to the surface whatever hung at the other end. We watched, Holmes' keen eyes picked out every detail. Emerging into the sliver of moonlight we could see that Wilson had added a large, bulky parcel in addition to the cage he was carrying.

"If only we could see what was within that bundle," I said longingly.

"Never fear." Holmes turned to me with the trace of a smile upon his lips. His eyes twinkled. "I do believe the case is beginning to come together."

We observed as Wilson shuffled off toward his home, the dim light of a candle flickering from his distant front window. He was an odd man with deeper secrets than I had at first thought him capable of possessing.

As his form disappeared from view, Holmes scurried forward with his lamp and examined the ground, the tub, and even the pulley with the greatest attention to every detail. He sniffed the rope. He ran his fingers across the boards of the tub. Finally he appeared satisfied with his investigation. He rubbed his hands together warming them. " I believe we can go now. The morning comes early and there is much to be done before we reach the end of this intriguing little game. Come, Watson, a warm bath and a soft bed are in order just now."

I heartily agreed and followed him back to the farmhouse.

~o~

By the time I arose and came down the steps of the old farmhouse Holmes, not unexpectedly, had already risen and taken his breakfast. An empty cup and scattered crumbs bore testament to his early departure.

"Went out right early this 'ere morning," the servant girl answered my unspoken query and went off to bring me tea and toast.

Holmes returned some time later just as I was finishing the last pages of the local paper.

"You have news, then?" I noted the gleam in his eye and the fresh mud upon the soles of his shoes.

"That I have, my friend." He rubbed his hands briskly together bringing fresh pinkness to fingers deathly pale from the chilly morning air. He hung up his coat and sat down in the chair opposite my own. "I have just had a rather amusing chat with John Renshaw Wain, owner of the Whitfield and Chatterley collieries."

He settled deeper into the cushions and closed his eyes revisiting the scene for my benefit. "Early this morning, our young friend, Thad, and I set off on a Northerly route to the large manor house standing yonder. You may recall it. We passed it on our journey here and you remarked that it was the largest of its kind in this neighborhood. Upon reaching the North Manor we rang the bell of an imposing front door carved of wood and wrought with iron. We were then led into the parlour and told to wait. As I sat and passed the time I took it upon myself to examine every detail. You know my methods, Watson."

I smiled as I recalled that many times I had watched my friend scrutinise what would seem to be the must mundane of details. "Pray, continue," I spoke.

"Well, it turned out that Wain was not nearly as anxious to see us as we were to see him. He is not a large man. He is slender of build with dark hair that matches equally dark beady eyes. When he peers out from his spectacles he reminds one of the cunning fox that sizes up its prey before it pounces. Although I attempted to alleviate his suspicions he was not to be deterred from his dislike of us. When questioned about his ownership of the colliery he affirmed with a cool nod, all the while narrowing his eyes and staring at me with a face full of undisguised suspicion and loathing. I then asked him about the reason Whitfield had ceased operation and what his plans were for the future."

At this point in his narrative, Holmes paused and chuckled softly at some memory. "He proceeded to feed me the same lies that Wilson attempted yesterday, that of irremediable bad air. He refused to comment on the future for the mine."

"But, Holmes, how do you know that the mine isn't full of noxious gases?"

"You yourself saw Wilson descend into the pit and return with no ill effects. Rather than returning with a fainting canary, he returned with a bird that was perfectly content. I made sure of that point last night."

"A fortuitous observation, Holmes!" I exclaimed with admiration.

He gave a wry smile. "Chance had nothing to do with it. I observed because I expected it. Last night's events merely confirmed some of the little theories I've formed."

Holmes returned to his narrative on Wain. "Although the man is unwilling to say anything, his silence spoke plainly. He is obviously hiding something, Watson. The question now becomes what and why? I would return to Wilson but not yet. I feel we must let our birds think they are free before drawing in the net. But, Watson, in the meantime we shall not be inactive. It is time we make a small visit to the mine ourselves."

"I'd hoped you say such," I replied with unreserved zest. There was nothing better than working with this sleuth of a man hot on the trial of a clue. His amazing powers of deduction and skill were never more plainly displayed then when he was closing in on the luckless criminal nearing the end of his rope."

I rose to get my things.

~o~

The deserted outbuildings, old colliery workings overgrown by briers and brown grass that crunched under our feet, came into view as we approached the pithead. The tub, which just last night had supported Wilson on his sinister descent, hung innocently suspended just above the deep abyss. On a small, lettered scrap of wood I could still discern the scrawled warning, '_Attention: Men Descending_'.

From the opposite direction I made out the bouncing form of our young friend, Thad. He scurried across the vast wasteland and just managed to stop himself before bowling into the amused figure of my colleague. "Beg pardon, Mister Holmes," Thad apologized breathless." I brought the things you asked for. See?" The boy produced two Davies and small hand shovel and a tiny cage containing a yellow canary perched on a slender branch inside.

"Well done, Thad!" Holmes' praise was genuine and warm and Thad smiled broadly at the compliment.

Together we equipped ourselves for the descent. Hats upon our heads, canary in Holmes' hand, and revolver in my own pocket we nodded to each silent and sober then began the long process of lowering ourselves into the deep, dark shaft. Metal tubbing lined the walls in an effort to prevent its collapse. The light from the outside faded away as we continued further and further. I could see neither top nor bottom and was suspended in the air with only an old rope to serve as my lifeline. It was an unnatural feeling. My heart pounded in my ears and my instincts were alert, ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead. Invisible to the eye, I could sense that my friend felt a similar thrill. These were the moments that he lived for, even thrived upon, and when finished, thirsted for more.

Before reaching the floor of the shaft, we switched on our Davy headlamps. Coming to a halt we found ourselves in a large chamber with tunnels leading off in multiple directions like the spokes of a wheel. Each tunnel was associated with a ream of coal deposits. Holmes fell down onto his hands and knees and began combing the ground. Back and forth he crawled along the dirt intent on the soil below, his Davy lamp emitted a faint glow upon the ground beneath him. Finally he stood up. "This way, Watson." He pointed to the far left tunnel.

"There have been multiple trips made into this colliery recently. The most recent, I see, leads us along the tunnel we will now investigate. This is the path that our friend, Wilson, took last night."

We crept along cautiously while stories of collapsing walls, flash floods and deadly gasses, danced around my head. The roof of the passage lowered and narrowed so that soon we found ourselves bent double to keep from bumping the sharp chiseled rock above us. I glanced nervously to the cage suspended from Holmes' right hand containing the canary. He flitted about on his limb and seemed free of any ill effects from the air inside the mine. Abruptly, Holmes halted. I stumbled, arms flailing in an attempt to keep from falling into his suddenly inert form. "Have you found something?" I asked apprehensively.

"Look at this!" My friend indicated a dark depression in the floor of the tunnel that glistened in the radiance of our lamps.

"What is it?"

Holmes dropped to his knees again, setting the cage to the side, and tested the ground with his probing hands. He was rewarded in his efforts with fingers that were now coated with tiny silvery flecks. "Some kind of metal ore, Watson." His keen eyes spotted signs of recent disruption of the soil.

"I am sure Wilson came last night to remove any traces of instruments that would lead us to this place." He took the small hand shovel and scooped up a sample of the sparkling earth and placed it in a small glass vial. A chortle of satisfaction escaped his lips as he turned to exit the shaft in the direction we'd just come. "The case is almost complete, my old fellow!"

I, however, did not follow his line of reasoning. "Holmes, whatever your findings, I still find myself in the dark. I do not see how these link together." I slowed my pace and twisted my head slightly to look back at my companion.

"Keep moving, Watson," Holmes impatiently prodded me forward along the passageway. "I'll explain when we see the light of day again."

I shuffled forward making slow but steady progress when suddenly I remembered. "Holmes, the canary! We forgot him when you set the cage down."

My colleague groaned in annoyance at this oversight but willingly retraced his steps to retrieve the bird while I waited for him. He soon returned with the tiny chirper in his possession and we resumed our trek back. The ceiling opened up once again and I gave a sigh of relief as I straightened my aching back. Just then I became aware of a vague creeping sensation at the base of my skull.

"Holmes, it's too quiet."

"Of that you speak correctly," my friend replied bluntly. He shone his lamp into the eerily silent canary cage. Our yellow friend shifted nervously on his perch, feathers ruffled and head bowed and tucked under a wing. Suddenly he gave a weak chirp and attempted to hop down but instead fell sidelong off his perch and lay motionless on the floor of his cage.

~o~

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**to be continued in chapter 6...**


	6. Ch 6 - Theories and Questions

**I apologize that it has taken me longer than I anticipated to add the next chapter. Rather cruel of me to leave you with a dead canary in the depths of a mysterious coal mine. Sorry! **

**Many thanks for those who reviewed and commented: johnsarmylady, medcat, mrspencil, Silverdragonstar, peaceandlove, MapleleafCameo, Book girl fan, and anonymous! I read them all and respond to all those that I can. **

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**Chapter 6: Questions and Theories**

"Holmes!" I cried in alarm fear mounting quickly in my heart. "It's the deadly chokedamp! We have to get out of here."

"Go!" He commanded with an authority and confidence that unleashed a torrent of energy within me such that we reached the wooden tub and I hauled us upward in an impossible short time. It was a force born of the utmost concern for both my dearest friend and my own safety, spurring me on as I pulled on the rope and heaved us up the shaft to the top. We broke into the fresh air and daylight with a deep and profound sense of relief. I was panting heavily from my efforts but managed a weak smile at Holmes as we unloaded ourselves into much welcomed sunshine.

Holmes opened the cage and laid the limp bird on his hand exposing it's body to the fresh breeze that blew wistfully across the expanse. "Killed-dead?" asked Thad curiously.

"No, I think he will come round." I replied hopefully. Within a few minutes I was delighted to see my predictions come true and the little animal blinked its eyes and righted its body to perch on Holmes' finger.

Thad clapped his hands in joy and Holmes smiled as he placed the bird back in its cage.

"I think it is time that we return these items to your kind Father, Thad." Holmes gathered up the hats and birdcage brushing off the drying mud that caked his trouser knees. He only partly succeeded.

"Would you like to meet my pa? 'E's a gentleman since 'e got the sack" Thad asked, an eager expression on his face and a beseeching look in his eyes. "He'd be right pleased to meet the detective from London. 'He reads 'bout the cases you've solved in the Strand."

Holmes gave me a rueful smile. "Well, we mustn't disappoint. Shall we, Watson?"

~o~

We trudged after our youthful friend, full of endless energy, who excitedly led us across the thick grasses and undulating expanse to his family's home. We arrived at a small cottage that stood on the outskirts of the town. Smoke rose lazily from its chimney. The simple brick exterior and neatly trimmed bushes bordering the place gave it an inviting presence. As we approached, the front door opened for us and Mrs Winstanley came out to welcome us.

"Ma, these are the friends that I talked 'bout yesterday, Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson," Thad announced proudly.

"We have heard much about you," she replied in a warm and hospitable tone. "Thad has told us so much that I feel we must know each other already. Please, do come in." She swept open the door widely and motioned for us to enter.

We seated ourselves in a comfortable corner of the sitting room. Thad dashed off to find his father. He returned shortly with a well-built, tall, and muscular gentleman. His hands and face bore the marks of one used to hard labor. His smile was true and sincere. Despite the premature creases upon his brow he maintained an air of dignity about his persona.

"I am indeed honoured to have men such as yourselves come visit my humble abode." His voice rumbled in genuine gratefulness.

"The pleasure is ours. Your son has been of invaluable help. We must thank you for lending him to our service and for the use of your lamps and bird." Glancing at the yellow canary now blissfully hopping about his cage pecking at the scattered seeds in his cage, Holmes have a grateful nod. "He gave us ample warning today in the mine to ascend." My colleague briefly outlined the events at Whitfield.

"Strange, Mister Holmes." The senior man scratched his chin in deep thought. "Your description brings back a small memory that has nagged at the back of my mind for sometime but never solidified until just now. As you described our little bird's reaction to the dangerous fumes, I remember now what struck me as funny when the whole mine was evacuated. At that time I did not have my own bird. There was no need as the mining management insisted on several birds remaining in the depths of the underground work at all times. The birds were kept by Wilson, I believe."

He nodded in remembrance. "Yes. I distinctly remember the day when all the birds collapsed. It was a mad scramble to get out. How can one forget? Despite changing the ventilation shafts, altering the updraft and downdraft and shifting the air flow with the doors the air remained bad. More often than not, the miners would have to return to the surface shortly after their descent, canaries lying lifeless in their cages. It was a discouraging and demoralizing time for everyone, as you can imagine."

He opened his eyes and look up at us while a brief sad expression crossed his face. "Tragic." He shook his head. With a start he brought himself out of his mournful reverie and resumed his narrative." As I recall, the birds reacted much more quickly to the noxious gas than our little canary did today. Perhaps the air is beginning to clear? I can only hope that a slower reaction to the air means the concentration of poison is lower."

Holmes looked thoughtful for a few minutes. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "Yet, if my hypothesis proves true the air may be clearing for quite another reason. Come, Watson, we have one more person to visit."

He arose and looked at Mr Winstanley. "I trust that we shall have more happy news upon our next meeting." We shook hands and took our leave. I found Holmes impatient and keen to be going. From his manner, I knew he was eager to test his little theory. I was only too happy to oblige.

I followed briskly to match the rapid pace, which my friend set off at back through the streets of the village. Threading our way through the roughed dirt and stone pathways that allowed a few wagons and carriages to pass through we came to the local post office. Holmes popped into the building and sent off a hastily scribbled telegram.

"To validate my theory," he said as we marched out again and hailed a small dog-cart to return us to our lodgings at the farmhouse. Holmes wrapped himself in silence on the journey back. I considered the strange course of events that we'd recently encountered. What was Wilson's game? An eccentric man with a fondness for canaries but an inexplicable presence inside a mine that he claimed was full of poisonous air? What were his motives in trying to keep us out? And what about John Renshaw Wain, owner of the mine? Why was he so antagonist to visitors asking questions about his property? What was he hiding? What about the findings inside the mineshaft and the chokedamp? My own mind groped helplessly about as I sought to link the events together into a logical chain but without success.

~o~

Arriving back at our quarters we took our lunch and retired to the upstairs in a state of comfortable, companionable silence. Holmes began rummaging around in his luggage. "Thankfully, I remembered to add a few items that you might otherwise have forgotten, my dear Watson," Holmes proclaimed, pulling out a Bunsen burner, various reagents, and a few glass test tubes. "Never leave home without these little essentials, my friend!"

I shuddered at the thought of what else my eccentric flat mate might consider 'essential'.

For the next hour or two, Holmes lost himself in his chemical experiments. At one point, the malodorous fumes became so thick I was obliged to open the window.

Without warning, detective turned chemist suddenly let out a note of triumph from within a dim haze of chemical smoke. "Ha! Just as I thought. Silver."

"What's silver?" I asked confused by his unexpected outburst.

"Why, Watson, you do yourself an injustice. Surely you remember the soil sample I took from the mine? It contains silver. I'd say that our friends, Wain and Wilson, have stumbled across a rich vein of silver ore in the Whitfield colliery. Is it no wonder that they are attempting to keep people out of the mine with poisonous fumes and ghost stories!"

"With Wain as owner of the colliery, he could become a very rich man." My mind was catching up to Holmes' as I continued. "The new mining techniques for silver would mean he wouldn't have to worry so much about bad air."

A knock on our door startled us and announced the arrival of the local page. "Telegram for Mr Holmes," he saluted smartly and stood at attention as he handed the letter to my friend who'd risen from his position on the floor. Taking the note, he dismissed the boy with a coin for his troubles.

Grasping the telegram firmly in hand, Holmes transformed from the studious chemist into the alert and active detective, a sleuthhound on the case with an answer tantalizing in front of his nose. His eyes lit up and his fingers nearly trembled in anticipation. He tore the letter open and read the few printed lines. With an exclamation of satisfaction he tossed it to me.

"Watson, my dear fellow, the case is complete. The net is neatly woven round our birds. All that is left is to draw the cords and bring them to justice."

The intensity in his manner and the fervent tone to his voice would have sent any criminal trembling and running for his life. "We have the proof now to bring in the local police force and we shall enlist their help on the way. Come, Watson! The game's afoot!"

He scampered about the room, brushing aside his scattered papers on the floor and collected a few items shoving them into his coat. I wrapped my own jacket around me and slipped my revolver into my pocket. The look on Holmes' face was one I'd seen before and by now I knew it usually foreshadowed some form of danger. Together we clambered down the wooden steps of the farmhouse and out the front door. Impatiently my colleague looked around for a mode of transport, finding none at his command, we resorted to walking in the direction of the local constable's office.

Mercifully I was spared the long trek to the village when Dr Trevelyan came by in his carriage. "I am headed to town at the request of a sick patient of mine, would you like to join me?" He opened the door and invited us inside. We gratefully accepted.

Giving Trevelyan a nod of appreciation, Holmes proceeded with his analysis, emphasizing his words with intensity and clarity born from a practiced confidence in his own keen observations." You see it is essential that our prey not be allowed to warn the other."

"Warn who? Of what?" I stammered to catch up with his mind that had already fit the clues together before I'd even found all the pieces.

"Wain and Wilson, of course. The two are working together. The question becomes one of what the roles of each are. I have my theories, but it would be ill-fitting of me to assume anything until we meet both men again."

"My mind has not yet caught up with your conclusions, Holmes!" I exclaimed. "As you are so apt to complain how I tell my stories wrong end foremost, I beg that you restate your deductions in chronological order."

A brief chagrinned expression told me he remembered such grumblings, and he settled down to summarize the facts of the case and his logic for my benefit.

"Although the Whitfield colliery contains large deposits of coal it has never been very profitable. If you will kindly harken back to yesterday's breakfast conversion you may remember that I mentioned that the colliery was placed under the control of three liquidators: Hugh Henshall Williamson, C. J. Homer, and John Renshaw Wain." He gave me a pointed look.

"In my defense, Holmes, it was before I had my tea."

My colleague sighed and continued. "If you can recall now, under the new management, coal production increased but despite increased ventilation with the steam winding engines and the new updraft and air sealing system, problems with bad air suddenly and mysteriously plagued the entire underground network of tunnels. It was such a financial blow to the company that the three new company managers bailed. This telegram confirms that John Renshaw Wain secretly acquired the estate and the colliery under the guise of the Chatterley Whitfield Collieries Company Limited at a very low price. He is the sole investor in the company."

A tiny smirk threatened at the corners of my partner's mouth as the pieces of the case fell into place for me and a dawning realisation fell across my face. "Holmes! But that would mean…"

He nodded.

"What evil man deprives hundreds of hard working, innocent men of an honest living in order to advance his own financial gains? An entire colliery has been closed down due to greed."

I considered the poor hard working miners of Whitfield, some as young as ten or eleven years, ceaselessly laboring in order to feed their families and survive. They'd found themselves without a job and without a salary overnight while grasping greedy men like Wain grappled for more power and money. Whether or not the colliery was later reopened would be a mute point for many families whose survival depended on a weekly salary for food and shelter. Many would relocate to the larger cities in the meager hope of finding employment in the sweltering polluted overcrowded factories. It was a cruel, cold, and calculating man that could contrive such a deception.

"But how did Wain and Wilson managed to deceive seasoned minors about the bad air?" I questioned. "Mr Winstanley's description fits a catastrophic release of poisoned gas that would surely have led to multiple deaths or at least an explosion had methane of such magnitude infiltrated the tunnels. It seems like too large a risk with the potential for explosive collapse in the shafts and fire."

My seatmate nodded and clasped his hands together under his chin thoughtfully. "If my little theory is correct Watson, he would not have needed to use methane, or carbon monoxide, or any other poisonous fumes. But let us not speculate any further. It inevitably leads to erroneous conclusions. We must wait with patience until we talk with Wilson. It is with him that the answer to this question lies I believe."

With a wave, Dr Trevelyan dropped us at the local police office where Holmes' reputation along with the telegram from Scotland Yard enabled him to receive their prompt cooperation. He efficiently explained the situation to the local officials. "Certainly, Mr. Holmes. You can count on us to bring Mr Wain in quietly." The Chief Constable bobbed his head in agreement. "You are quite right. This is a most serious matter that you have brought to our attention. We're grateful for your cooperation."

"What about Wilson?" I queried as my partner turned to exit.

"Quite right, my old friend," he answered. "It was necessary to capture the hawk first otherwise we were in danger of the little sparrow spoiling our trap. Now that Wain is being taken care of by the local law, and I don't doubt that with their tenacity in such matters that they will secure our man, we can turn our attention to Wilson." His pace quickened and his eyes gleamed with suppressed excitement. Here was the last piece in the investigation that remained unsolved. My comrade was on edge to unearth the answer. Pity any criminal, or any other person, who might get in the way!

I scrambled to keep up with his rapid footwork. "We can catch a cab," I gasped between deep breaths. "It will be faster."

Though the detective feigned not to hear me, he did hail the next passing cart and we set off for Wilson's place as quickly as the tired, old horse pulling us could go. Closing in on our destination, we dismounted and walked the last portion of the journey up a path nearly impassable due to the thick overgrowth of vegetation.

At first I feared our bird had somehow been warned of our coming and flown, however, at last we heard Wilson's shuffling steps in answer to our knock against the ever-present backdrop of twittering canaries. He opened the door. "May we enter?" Holmes pushed forward not waiting for an answer. I followed.

~o~

**To be continued in chapter 7**


	7. Ch 7 - Some Answers

**Many, many thanks to everyone who's stuck with me to this last chapter! You are awesome in my not-so-humble opinion! **

**Last chapter. I hope the answers are clear and all your questions answered - well, most of your questions - a world without some ambiguity would make for too much ennui!**

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**Chapter 7: Some Answers**

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"What are you doing here?" Wilson grumbled and eyed us suspiciously.

My colleague scanned the room with his sharp perceptive eyes and his gaze landed upon a slender silver object. "A whistle," I said in surprise as he picked it up and examined it next to me. "Why a whistle?"

Holmes blew into the device but only the faintest of a high pitch noise could I discern. "What is the matter with this whistle, Holmes? It appears useless."

"No, not useless, my dear Watson," Holmes explained with a satisfied grunt. "Have a look in the aviary."

I trotted round the corner. To my amazement the room had become ominously silent. In each cage motionless little feathery forms lay in deathly stillness. Only a few cages in the far corner contained specimens that remained fluttering and upright on their branches occasionally uttering a sad chirp. "They're all dead!" I gasped in alarm.

"No, not dead, Watson." Holmes maintained his guard over the increasingly apprehensive Wilson standing in the main room.

I looked closer. To my relief I saw a faint rise and fall of the bright yellow-feathered breast and sighed in relief. "But what does it all mean?"

"It means," Holmes gazed severely at Wilson, "that you had better explain yourself." He waved an accusing finger in front of the trembling man's face. "You have not been honest with us. I do not appreciate such lies. To think that you could deceive me is an insult to my profession. Your only hope for leniency is to be perfectly honest with me now."

His eyes bore into the man's soul with a ferocity that could make the most hardened thief quiver. "I will know when you're lying."

Confronted in this manner, Wilson fell blubbering to his knees. "It was not my idea! You must believe me Mr Holmes. I didn't want to but he forced me. Mr Wain made me trick all those people in the mine." At this his tears began to flow and he sat down heavily in the chair, which Holmes considerately pushed in his direction. "He threatened to relieve me of my duties as foreman if I refused. I had no other choice! I had medical bills piling up from my wife's prolonged illness. Without a job I wouldn't be able to buy her medicines and we'd be forced into the poorhouse."

I handed the man my handkerchief and gave him a glass of water, which he sipped gratefully while he composed himself.

"Please do start at the beginning," I gave him an encouraging pat on his shoulder while Holmes, as was his manner, remained passive and coolly disconnected.

Wilson gulped another breath of air. "About a year ago Wain came to me with a proposition. He told me that he wanted me to train some special canaries for him. You see, besides being the foreman over the majority of the workers, my wife and I raised a few birds on the side for a bit of extra income. The colliery had always utilized our birds as their underground sentinels."

He wiped another tear at the thought of his departed wife. "He told me he wanted all the canaries that the colliery purchased to be taught to faint. I couldn't understand such a strange request. He wouldn't elaborate when I questioned him on the point. He simply said he would make it worth my while to make sure the trained birds would fall over as if dead at the sound of this whistle."

He pointed to the silver whistle that Holmes still held in his hand.

"It emits a very high pitch noise that most humans have difficulty hearing but that birds are quite attune to hearing. The high pitch travels well through the tunnels of the mine."

Wiping off beads of sweat that had formed on his anxious brow, he continued his story. "I tried to refuse but he threatened me. He threatened not only my wages but also my reputation. He even made insinuations against the life of my dying wife. I didn't know what else to do."

"Pray continue, your story holds true so far," Holmes beckoned from where he stood leaning against the shelf.

"It wasn't difficult. Canaries are really rather intelligent little creatures. They quickly learned to simulate a dead faint as soon as I blew the whistle. It was only on that fateful day six months ago that I realized the reason behind Wain's request. My heart went cold that day." A pained grimace crossed his grizzled features as he remembered.

"There were further investigations into the air quality problem. Although the monitors and chemical analysis came back negative, no one would trust their lives to such fickle instruments when every canary fainted upon exposure to the mine's air. No one was willing to risk their life when they could clearly see the effects on these poor birds. Shortly thereafter, the mine was shut down."

I glanced at Holmes who stood watching every movement of our prisoner. His look told me that Wilson was telling the truth.

Wilson took another sip of his water. "I went to Wain and told him I knew about his deceit with my canaries. He assured me in no uncertain terms that he'd make sure I would be arrested as an accessory to the crime if I talked. And without the money to provide for my wife's dying necessities, she would certainly suffer. So I stayed silent."

His chin sunk down upon his breast and his eyes stared at the floor in front of him. Without looking up, he said, "he has continued to pay me a small sum every month."

Wilson came to the close of his woeful tale and sat motionless, a picture of shame, remorse, and desolation. Silence ensued interrupted only by the calculated tapping of the detective's fingertips upon the edge of the small wooden shelf. Abruptly he stopped and turned.

"Come, Watson. I think we have heard enough." He looked at the man slumped in the chair before us. "And, Wilson, from now on I suggest that you stick to training your canaries in the thrilling harmonies and melodies that will exalt the soul rather than bring destruction. I do not represent the official constabulary but I warn you that you must remain available to testify against Mr John Renshaw Wain if such a need should arise. Under the circumstances, I think that you have little to fear for your own participation in this deception." With one last piercing gaze at Wilson he warned, "If you attempt to flee, know that I will find you and will not be so forgiving the next time."

Wilson nodded solemnly, "Yes, I'll be here. This is my home. I could not leave when it is so full of the memories of her. My birds remain my company. I'll testify against that cruel tyrant who cowered me into such treachery. His voice rose with sudden fervour. Then softening his tone, he added quietly as if to himself, "there is no one but myself, anyway, now that my wife is dead."

~o~

The sky was just beginning to give off that pink and golden glow that inspires one's spirit with rays of brilliance when we exited the sad abode of Wilson. Sweet trills and twitters echoed behind us as we wound our way down the dirt footpath leading across the pastures to the farmhouse. "By this time, Watson, I have no doubt that John Renshaw Wain is in the capable hands of the police force and I am sure that his defense will not go over nearly so sympathetically as our unfortunate canary trainer's."

"Indeed," I agreed. He has much to answer to for the way he has deceived and cheated the people of Whitfield. But how did you know that it was Wilson who would be at the mine last night?"

"I observed the Davy lamp in his house the first time we met him. The lamp gives off a peculiar glow that could easily be interpreted as ghostly. Since the colliery has not brought them into use yet, I realised he was one of the few people who likely owned such a lamp. I needed to make sure though. Our night time excursion proved my hypothesis."

"Marvelous!" I laughed. "And what about the canaries? How did you know they were feigning their collapse?"

"I must admit that I was distracted at first. If it had not been for Mr Winstanley's nagging doubts I would not have connected the facts. Remember how he told us that all the birds collapsed at once and quite abruptly too? Consider how our little bird gave us her tell tale warning signs first: the ruffling of the feathers, the head tucked under her wing, a weak though vain attempt to hop to the lower part of her cage? None of these symptoms occurred in the canaries that Wain employed. I suspected there was some other trigger for their collapse."

My heart thrilled within my breast and I couldn't help but admire the great detective as his brilliant intellect linked the clues together in a logical succession leading to the solution. "Holmes, I confess, I am amazed! I have seen the same things you have seen, heard the same stories you have heard, and followed you along with you each step of the way and yet never came to any such solution as you have so skillfully demonstrated tonight."

A suggestive upturning of the corners of his mouth showed his pleasure at hearing these compliments and he turned to me in one of his teasing tones, "have I not said before, you see but you do not observe, my dear Watson?"

~o~

Arriving at the farmhouse, we found a familiar figure waiting for us on the doorstep. "Thad!" I greeted him with undisguised pleasure. "We are happy to see you again. Pray, tell me what brings you here at such a late hour? Your mother and father will be worried."

"Oh no, Mr Watson," our small friend said gaily. "They are the ones who've sent me here." But before he could explain, his alert eyes noted Holmes ascending the steps to enter our lodgings. "Wait! Mister Holmes," Thad exclaimed excitedly. "I came to tell you 'bout Mr Wain."

At the mention of the colliery owner's name, Holmes stopped and lent his full attention to Thad's narrative. He gave an inviting nod for the boy to continue.

"This afternoon, Mr Wain tried to run away," he babbled with great enthusiasm. "The police, they came to visit him but before they could say anything, he 'scaped out the back door and started runnin'. But I," he spoke proudly, "was watching just like you said I should. I yelled as hard as I could and chased after 'im. 'E tried to hide in the stables but I found 'im. One of them constables even thanked me. He said they might not 'ave caught him without me." He stopped here and stared with unconcealed admiration at Holmes.

"Well done, lad!" my colleague praised with a pleased expression decorating his naturally ascetic features and gave the boy a pat of affirmation on his shoulder.

"But Thad," I reminded, "the hour is getting late and it soon will be dark."

"Oh - oh, your right, Dr Watson. I almost forgot," an embarrassed look crossed his face. "You are invited to be our guests of honour at dinner tonight." At last, having remembered to deliver the message he'd been charged with, he stood and looked to Holmes and I for a reply. "Please!" he added.

Holmes laughed. "You make a most convincing and charming messenger boy. We will be most grateful to oblige and accept your invitation to dinner." He turned to me with a wink and a grin, "that is, of course, if my friend, here, is agreeable to such."

"More than agreeable," I heartily affirmed. "Especially if another bird, this time roasted and carved, is a part of it!"

"Hooray!" Thad cried. "I'll go and tell them now!" He dashed off to deliver the good news.

"See you soon," I called after his receding figure.

~o~

As we prepared for the evening I pondered Holmes strange attraction to the lad. How was it that the normally bohemian man who was averse to new friendships should bond so quickly and fondly to the child? "Holmes," I asked as we started on our way to the Winstanley home, "You mentioned that Thad reminded you of someone. Who was it?"

My dearest and wisest friend, the great detective of the ages, contemplated my question a moment, then tilting his aquiline face toward me with a thoughtful expression, spoke softly, wistfully, "someone I knew long ago, Watson. One day I will tell you more." For the briefest of moments his eyes took on a dreamy expression as if gazing into an era lost long ago. A tenderness, such as I had not seen before, flashed across his features. In another instant, the dreamer was gone. "Come, Watson, let us forget the past for a few hours and immerse ourselves entirely in the pleasantries of the present. The Winstanleys await us." He smiled.

~o~

My dear readers:

In the margins of my case notes I have written that John Renshaw Wain was tried and found guilty of his crimes involving the illegal acquisition of the Whitfield Colliery under deliberate deception and causing financial losses to hundreds. His son, Edwards Brownfield Wain, turned out to have had no part in his father's affairs and was soon appointed manager of the colliery. Under his leadership, the mine recovered from its setbacks and entered its 'golden age'.

**_The End_**

~o~

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**Thank you for your kind attention thus far! I would love to hear back from you. What are your thoughts, opinions, and suggestions for improvement? Were there areas that didn't make sense? Are there historical issues that I have missed? You, dear readers, are my teachers! I value all input :-)**

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_"Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and stated as baldly as possible." ACD, Silver Blaze_


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